


Sod's Law

by Alley_Walk (AlleyWalk_writes)



Category: D.Gray-man, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Allen Walker is a Little Shit, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dementors, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Harry Potter becomes a Noah, Hedwig encourages this behavior, Hogwarts Fifth Year, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Snarky Allen, Trans Allen Walker, and subsequently Allen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-04-03 17:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21489574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyWalk_writes/pseuds/Alley_Walk
Summary: Harry Potter feels like he’s burning up. His breath scalds his throat as it enters his lungs with each breath he takes, a deep, throbbing pain buried deep into his bones. His mind feels like it’s unravelling inside him, like a tapestry coming apart at the seams. Suddenly it’s like his feet have dropped out from under him, and he’s not quite sure who he is anymore, his identity a piece of Aunt Petunia’s glassware that’s shattered onto the floor.Who is she, again?Allen Walker.The words resound throughout his mind. A name, an identity, and he thinks surely this must be who he is.But no. He’s-Allen Walker.No, he’s not. He’s-Allen. Allen Walker.The identity floods into him with all the force of a tsunami, unable to be fought or stopped. But the former identity is nothing if not stubborn, and when the force ceases, a bright spark of what once was remains.And when Harry looks into his eyes in a pool of clear water, instead of seeing the emerald green of his mother's eyes he sees a striking bright gold.And then Allen remembers.
Relationships: Allen Walker & Hedwig, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Wisely Kamelot & Tyki Mikk & Allen Walker
Comments: 17
Kudos: 163





	1. erase//awaken

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all!
> 
> This is a new story of mine, and as you can see, it's a crossover.
> 
> The way I will be doing this is scene by scene, but as you can judge by the word count the scenes will most likely be pretty long and all have a definitive ending just like a real chapter would. The ones that don't will be added on to another scene so that y'all get that definitive ending.
> 
> Okay, here we go! Only warning I can think of is deadnaming and a little non-graphic violence, but other than that read on! ^^

Harry Potter feels like he’s burning up. His breath scalds his throat as it enters his lungs with each breath he takes, a deep, throbbing pain buried deep into his bones. The warm July air makes Harry’s hair stick to his forehead with sweat, his body overheating in nighttime heat. The Dursley’s, with their undying generosity, had confined Harry to the garden shed in the backyard after his nighttime thrashing had disturbed their beauty sleep. Harry’s nails bite deeply into the flesh of his palms at the thought, drawing blood as hot rage boils inside him. It makes him want to destroy, to burn everything around him to the ground only to turn back the clock and do it all over again. To go back in time to when Vernon was weak and helpless just like he is and- 

He finds he can’t keep hold of the thought. His mind feels like it’s unravelling inside him, like a tapestry coming apart at the seams. Suddenly it’s like his feet have dropped out from under him, and he’s not quite sure who he is anymore, his identity a piece of Aunt Petunia’s glassware that’s shattered onto the floor.

Who is she, again? 

_ Allen Walker. _

The words resound throughout his mind. A name, an identity, and he thinks surely this must be who he is.

But no. He’s- 

_ Allen Walker. _

No, he’s not. He’s-

_ Allen. Allen Walker. _

The identity floods into him with all the force of a tsunami, unable to be fought or stopped. But the former identity is nothing if not stubborn, and when the force ceases, a bright spark of what once was remains. 

Harry opens his eyes a few hours later feeling confused and disoriented. He sits up in a garden shed of all places, rubbing at his temples to try to relieve his headache. Then he blinks as everything clicks into place. Allen looks down at himself, his new body. He sighs, shaking his head a little. Being fourteen again will certainly be an experience. Then again, this body seems extremely malnourished, so perhaps he’s older than he thinks. 

Clambering to his feet, he stops to take stock of himself. When he checks his left arm is indeed his Innocence, and with a touch to the left side of his face and an examination of his bangs he can conclude that his curse scar is also with him, and has once again blessed him with white hair. He appears to be in Noah form right now, but with a bit of concentration his grey skin bleeds to a deep brown.

He sure hopes that his host wasn't pasty pale before all of this. There would certainly be questions if that were the case. 

Allen opens the door to the garden shed with why exactly he had been in there still a complete mystery to him, and steps out into the hush of early morning, the sky still dark above him, like a pool of deep water. He stumbles a bit as he walks out into the backyard of someone’s house, as he’s unused to this body as of yet. _ Well, I suppose it’s best to leave before I get caught trespassing. _ He thinks wryly. But then Allen blinks and looks up as he feels something painful pang in his chest at the thought of leaving this boringly unpleasant house, as if something is calling him there. 

Returning to the garden shed allows him to requisition something serviceable for lock picking, and a minute and thirty seconds later the lock to the backdoor of the house clicks open, and Allen slips inside. He enters through the backdoor into a spotlessly cleaned kitchen, and this observation for some reason makes Allen both irritable and pleased at the same time. He feels an urge to climb up the stairs, and so he does so, avoiding each creaky step with ease. 

By now he’s sure that he’s been here many times before; or rather, that his host has. That he probably even lived here. The thought makes him angry, the sadness and the guilt a heavy weight on his shoulders. Does his host have family here, whoever he used to be? Family who loved him, and are going to miss him when he’s gone? He peers through a doorway into a bedroom to find two middle aged adults sleeping soundly, one a severely overweight man and the other a woman that could be called homely at best. These could well be his host’s parents, but when he looks at the overweight man’s face all he can feel is a bone deep fear and a desperate need to please the man, to never _ ever _ make him angry. 

For a moment Allen stands transfixed, caught in the emotions like a fly trapped in a web. Then he rips himself away from the doorway, taking a few stumbling steps down the hallway, breathing heavily with his head pounding like the beat of a drum. Shaking his head to clear it, he decides that leaving this place as soon as possible has become his next priority. Passing by another occupied room and not daring to look in to see what emotions this person might garner, he eyes the last room down the hall warily, thankfully empty. 

Walking into the room on soundless feet, Allen’s sharp ears alert him to the sound of wings flapping through the air, and he turns. In the darkness of the bedroom a beautiful snowy owl alights on Allen’s shoulder, her talons digging lightly into his shirt, and her golden eyes look at him with an expression of wounded reproach. His throat closes up suddenly and he finds he has to swallow the lump in his throat, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He smiles wistfully, his heart full of love that may or may not be his own as he strokes the owl’s feathers. He almost _ left her behind. _

“I’m sorry, girl.” Allen apologizes, and the she-owl hoots reprovingly. He feels so much love, so much fondness and companionship for her, surely he can remember her name? 

Searching the depths of his mind, he cocks his head at the she-owl and looks at her with uncertainty. “Hermoine?” The she-owl hoots, flapping her wings and pecking him on the shoulder, obviously quite offended. “No, Hedwig!” He says, suddenly certain. Hedwig hoots again, but it’s more of an offended huff. Allen strokes the feathers on her head to soothe both her and himself, the she-owl hooting and leaning into it with half-lidded eyes.

“Hey, Hedwig. How do you feel about getting out of this place?” Allen isn’t even sure if she’ll respond in any way. But she has so far, in a way that Allen can clearly understand. And General Nyne’s Innocence Lau Jimin is very intelligent, almost humanly so. Something is telling Allen that Hedwig is the same. 

Hedwig launches herself off of Allen’s shoulder and grabs a lock of his hair in her beak, her talons hooking into his shirt as she tries to tug him towards the door, her wings buffeting his face as she hoots excitedly. Allen laughs. “Okay, we’re going.” He searches around the room for anything that might be of significance, but the only thing truly out of place is an odd wooden stick, and well, what would he need that for? He considers taking some of the oversized hand-me-downs with him, but eventually decides against it. He can buy different clothing later once he’s got some money in his pockets. He quickly acquires some by searching quietly around the house and pinching all the money that he can find, from a wallet to a cash jar to some kid’s piggy bank. He just wishes they weren’t all in this confusing paper money, instead of the gold/silver/copper exchange that he’s used to.

Hedwig starts making a fuss as they pass by a boot cupboard on their way out the front door, and Allen pauses at the door, feeling his skin crawl. A choking miasma of misery and fear lies locked and hidden behind that door, but Allen finds he can't deny her this. Swallowing down his fear, Allen takes out his makeshift lock picking set and starts in on the first lock. Five tense minutes later and the last padlock finally falls to the floor, several others laying at his feet.

What's in here, the secret to immortality? 

Tugging open the door, the first thing Allen sees is a trunk lying sprawled out in the small space, along with an owl cage and a… broom? But his eyes quickly stray to the walls, and his heart drops like a stone. 

_ Harriet's room! _ is written in bright green crayon on the walls, the 'i-e-t' in Harriet scribbled out with red crayon, replaced with a clumsy 'y'. There are children's pictures drawn on the walls in multiple colors of crayon, and wedged into the corner is a small… mattress. Horror climbs up Allen's throat, his spine prickling with the visceral fear of it. He finds he's yanking the trunk and broom out of the boot cupboard, making quite a lot of noise while he does so.

“_ Boy _, what’s with all this racket?”

Allen looks up towards the top of the stairwell to see the overweight man looking down at him, and looking into his eyes Allen can't help but stutter as he says, “i-it's nothing,” _ please, just go away. _

But the light clicks on overhead, illuminating Allen and Hedwig clearly. The man looks surprised, and then his thick neck flushes with anger. “Are you trying to leave again, you _ freak _?”

Allen's not sure how his host gained the moniker “freak,” but Allen's heard it enough times that it makes him more angry than scared for the word to be used so casually against him. He glares defiantly at the man. “Yes,” he declares.

And the man smiles, vindictively pleased. “Good. I don't care what those wizards say, if you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you. Always stealing out clothes and taking the food right out of our mouths, putting us all at risk. Well, good riddance.” 

_ Wizards? _ Allen wonders, even as he is being ungraciously shoved out the door with broom, trunk, and owl cage in hand, Hedwig hooting insults from her precarious perch on Allen's shoulder. Allen smooths a hand through her ruffled feathers and she calms, cocking her head to look at him before hooting softly, her golden eyes fond. Allen smiles softly at her as they pass under another streetlight, the light giving Hedwig’s feathers a white luminescence. Allen stops to examine his surroundings with a frown on his face, and notices that the road is lined with far more streetlights than it should be, the road too smooth and even beneath his feet with odd carriage-like devices standing still in the road, barren of horses. Allen wants badly to investigate, but logically he knows he needs to find somewhere safe to sleep for the night rather than find out just what sort of alternate universe he’s landed himself in. 

He finds a bit of vindictive pride in the fact that that horrible man will soon be finding his wallet empty to Allen’s ministrations, and he can’t help but smile in satisfaction at the thought. Allen shivers, feeling suddenly cold. His breath fogs in the air, and Hedwig hoots and hunches in on herself. And then Allen is in the graveyard. Mana’s Akuma Skeleton looms over him, dark and ominous. “I curse you, Allen!” His knife arm comes down and then Allen is drowning, drowning in his own blood just as his body drops through the air and his neck snaps. Allen jolts, opening his eyes to see two cloaked and hooded figures that seem to absorb the darkness around them, drifting towards him in the distance, and with them come overwhelming tides of fear. 

Allen activates his Innocence, sending a rush of warmth throughout his body and chasing back the chill in the air. He leaps at one of the dark hooded creatures, his four foot long metallic claws ripping a hole deep into its stomach while his white feathered cloak tears it to shreds with surprising ease. The creature gives a last dying rattle before its body fades and dissipates into nothing. A deathly rattle sounds from behind Allen, a dead and rotted hand gripping his shoulder hard enough to bruise. Allen’s cloak flares, and the creature screeches and the hand falls away. 

Allen turns to face it, but he stumbles on a rock that had been lying in the middle of the road, silently cursing. The creature strikes lightning quick, grabbing hold of him with icy fingers and pulling them face. Allen stares into the depths of the hood and sees the darkness of the void inside, a darkness that absorbs all other darkness. Allen starts to feel faint, all the energy drained out of him as a rattling emerges from deep within the creature's throat. Some instinct inside him is screaming _ danger danger danger _, and he knows he needs to do something fast before irreparable damage is done. Bringing up his left arm with all the force he can muster, he sinks his claws into the creature’s chest, tearing into it as he drags his imbedded claws down its body. His cloak slices and tears into it with a vengeance born of pure desperation. The rattling cuts off suddenly as the creature turns to wisps and then dissipates into nothing.

Allen falls to the ground amongst his things, only just now registering Hedwig’s screeching. Allen looks around a bit foggily, “He’wig?” There’s an owl’s screech from above, and then Hedwig practically dives into his arms, Allen quickly deactivating his Innocence so as not to harm her. He quickly notices that she’s hurt; her talons wounded and bloody and the feathers on her stomach broken and bleeding. Protective anger burns in Allen’s chest, and this emotion, at least, is his own. “Who did this to you, Hedwig?” He asks, holding her carefully against his chest so as not to harm her further. 

Hedwig shoots him a scathing look, flapping her wings as if slightly affronted. Allen can almost imagine her saying,_ I protected you, of course. Why do you think I would do anything else? _

Allen smiles at her as if she had spoken and runs careful a careful finger down her spine. “Thank you, Hedwig.”

Hedwig puffs up proudly, even as she scolds, _ well Merlin knows someone has to. You can hardly take care of yourself as it is. _

Allen’s eyes bug out of his head, because Hedwig had just talked to him. But before he can properly process that fact as well as reconcile with himself as to what exactly those things were, a hysterical woman bursts out from behind a house and comes bustling towards him with all the chastening and beratement of a woman who clearly thinks herself above the station of ‘old cat lady’. Allen’s sharp nose wrinkles at the overwhelming scent of cat and pee that pervades his nostrils. He had smelled it in the area before, but had just assumed that there were stray cats nearby.

“That Mundungus Fletcher, skimping off duty at a time like this! He’ll have some explaining to do, and frankly Harry so will you. Destroying Dementors…” The woman shakes her head and then abruptly grabs onto Allen’s left arm. “Well, you can explain yourself back at Order Headquarters.”

Hope flutters like a pack of butterflies inside Allen’s chest, and he parrots, “Order Headquarters?”

“The Order of the Phoenix, Harry. Though we must not discuss this right now. We must- Harry? Harry, come back here at once!” 

But Allen doesn’t stop. He runs like his life depends on his escape, the owl cage abandoned in the streets as he scoops up the trunk and broom with Hedwig clutched safely against his chest. His heart pounds, his breathing quick with his lungs burning and he vows to get this body some actual exercise because he was never this winded when making getaways before. He makes twists and turns down backstreets and winding alleyways, the darkness like an old friend as he calls for the Ark and he is gone, gone, _ gone. _


	2. wands and wizards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allen finds himself near a certain pub, and subsequently inside a certain Alley.
> 
> His brain abruptly implodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all!
> 
> Back with a new chapter for ya! I've got the third one maybe half or a quarter written depending on the end length, it's like 1k atm but it seems like it'll take longer to get to the point than I thought. fml ┻┻︵ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵┻┻ 
> 
> Anyway, here we are with the next chapter.
> 
> No trigger warnings that I can think of but please tell me if I missed any!
> 
> Enjoy! ^^

The Ark drops him outside of the entrance to a small pub, the sign over the front proclaiming it to be the Leaky Cauldron. Allen gives Hedwig a side eyed look, since he hadn’t exactly been thinking of a particular destination other than away from here, and he’s certainly never been near a place with such an odd name. Hedwig looks back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Allen huffs with amusement and reluctantly enters the pub. 

Allen can immediately tell that there’s something… different about this place. The pub is lit by gas lanterns hung on the walls and placed on the tables, which would normally have put Allen at ease with the familiarity of it if it weren’t for the oddities scattered all about the room. There are people sitting at the tables wearing robes and cloaks with formal clothes that Allen can get behind, but some of them are wearing pointed hats, and Allen catches sight of a patron’s food  _ floating in mid air _ as it moves to an unoccupied table. 

That’s when Komui’s words from nearly a year and a half ago come back to him. All four of them had been lounging around in Komui’s office after a debrief when Komui had dropped a metaphorical bomb in their laps by mentioning wizards in casual conversation.

Kanda had scoffed. “Pull the other one, Komui.”

Lavi had frowned thoughtfully, however. “Oh yeah, I think I’ve heard of them. They’re pretty secluded, aren’t they?”

Allen, Lenalee and Kanda all stopped and looked at Lavi. Komui mentioning wizards was one thing. You never knew what Komui was going to say or do next, whether something serious or something off the wall insane. 

Komui nodded, however, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We have an unspoken agreement with them. We leave them alone and they leave us alone. It’s worked out so far.” He said defensively when they all looked at him askance.

“So what can these wizards do?” Allen asked curiously.

“Why, magic of course.”

Allen blinks back to himself to find a man in dark robes approaching him. Allen readies himself into a battle stance, holding Hedwig tightly to his chest. But the man only stops in front of him and asks, “on your way to the Alley then, are you lad?”

Allen nods with a polite smile. “Yes, sir.” He doesn’t know what ‘the alley’ is, but it’s got to be better than here, surrounded by people with powers and abilities that he doesn’t know. 

“Alright, follow me then.” The man walks briskly to the back of the pub, and Allen follows, trying to hide his relief. The relief soon dies as he finds himself alone with the man at the end of a hallway, but he doesn’t turn around, tapping a pattern into the bricks with an odd wooden stick. A stick, Allen realizes, that had an odd likeness to the one that had been in his host’s bedroom.

Was it possible that  _ his host _ was a wizard?

The bricks rotate and pull back from the wall, and before Allen knows it he’s stepping backwards away from the wall, remembering a suffocating black hole split apart by his own two hands and a black and white checkered door that lead to nowhere. But the wall opens up to a bustling street full of yet more people wearing robes and pointy hats, some being trailed by small creatures that each come up to about hip height with big floppy ears and eyes too large for their small faces, each one toting bags or packages that surely the person walking in front of them could have carried much easier.

Or the witch or wizard, Allen supposes.

Stepping out into the Alley with a nod of thanks to the man who had opened it for him, Allen tries not to be nervous as the entrance shuts behind him. Okay, the first thing he needs to do is… 

Allen ducks into an alleyway and treats Hedwig’s wounds as best as he can, ripping off strips of cloth from his shirt to bind her feet and doing what he can for her feathers. Looking at the trunk that he’s laid on its side, Allen decides it’s finally time to see what’s inside. He hesitates for a moment, and then unlocks it and lifts up the lid. There are mostly books inside with nonsensical titles, some sort of weird junk, as well as what appears to be three sets of some sort of uniform, maybe a school’s? Just the thought makes his insides squirm, and he goes over the last of the items in the trunk, a photo album and a few letters that must be from friends. Allen doesn’t dare look at either. Taking a deep breath, he closes the trunk, grabs both it and the broom with Hedwig balanced on his shoulder, and starts walking.

He comes out of his daze when Hedwig starts making a fuss as they pass by a white alabaster building, and since last time had yielded results, Allen decides to go take a look. Entering the building, he’s immediately hit with the sharp jangling of coins, the smell of paper and ink in the air. He immediately knows that this is a bank, even with the strange green men as the tellers. Allen tries not to stare, because he doesn’t want to be rude. But he notices that the currency is much different than what was in the non-magical world, and wonders if he can exchange his currency for theirs.

When he gets to the counter, he looks up at the teller and says, “hello. I would like to exchange my money for magical currency.” 

The green man narrows his eyes, and then he goes into the back and comes out with another green man who smiles with all sharp teeth. “Griphook, at your service, Mister Potter.”

Allen nods with a polite look, and Griphook’s eyes turn dismissive.

Hmm.

Allen smiles sharply at him. “So, my money?”

Griphook’s smiles, sharp and cunning. “Place it on the counter, if you will.”

Allen places his money on the counter, and Griphook counts it out before going in the back again, coming out with a large bag of coins. “That’s about 998 galleons for you.” The man says blandly, and Allen takes it out of his hand with a grin, trying to hide his glee.

“Would you like to see your vault, Mister Potter?”

“No, thank you.” Allen says, too distracted by his overwhelming excitement to really register the words.

Because the exchange rate must be enormous for the relatively measly amount he had stolen from his host’s family to amount to almost 1,000 galleons in wizarding currency.

Allen is  _ so _ going to be taking advantage of this.

* * *

Allen decides that his next stop should be to procure one of those sticks for himself. He needs to learn what they’re capable of, and the best way to do that is to get one himself. He soon notices some witches and wizards side eyeing him, or his clothing perhaps. Not wanting to stand out, he stops at a clothing store or a ‘robe shop’, and buys a set of formal robes in black and green that the owner insisted would compliment his eyes, as well as several pairs of gloves. 

Thoroughly disguised, Allen goes in search of a shop selling those sticks, Hedwig a comforting weight on his shoulder. He gets diverted by a shop that advertises ‘expandable trunks’, and, curious, he goes in. He spots a woman at the counter and asks politely, “excuse me, ma’am, but what is an expandable trunk?”

_ Please don’t be something that’s common knowledge…  _

The blonde woman’s face lights up though, and she says with a smile, “Boy, do we have a treat for you! Follow me, please!”

She shows him all sorts of expandable trunks, which turn out to be just as they’re advertised, with spaces inside of them that should literally be impossible.

But Allen will let his brain explode about that later.

Right now an inkling of an idea has hatched in his brain, and he asks the saleswoman if there are trunks with any living areas in them. In the end he settles for a trunk that has a false back and that can only be opened upon the owner’s blood being spilled upon the wood. Inside the trunk is a bedroom with a comforter and blankets as soft as sin and a nightstand with an en suite bathroom on the other side of the room, a lounge area with green and black couches and black carpeting, with shelves lining the walls and a small kitchenette off in the corner. The whole place is lit with what the saleswoman had called witchfire, the bright white light floating near the ceiling and able to be controlled by Allen’s command.

Or so she said.

Allen buys it anyway at the exorbitant price of 248 galleons, but only after haggling it down from 370.

Allen leaves the shop grinning, and quickly finds an alleyway in which to store his other trunk inside of his new one. Hedwig stays outside of the new trunk at her own insistence. Allen gives her a worried look but she just simply stares him down stubbornly, and he sighs. Stroking the top of her head with gentle fingers, he gets to his feet with trunk in hand and goes in search of a shop selling sticks. 

But what if they don’t sell sticks? It could be something on the black market, or something simply given to a wizarding child on a certain day. He curses himself for leaving his hosts stick at his family’s house. But he can’t go back there.

He just… can’t.

Even if some part of him wants to.

His eyes finally land on a shop called ‘Ollivander's’, mostly because of the picture of a stick next to the name on the sign. Allen enters the shop, glad to get away from the crowds. The shop he is in is has walls lined with shelves upon shelves of slim wooden cases, stacked up on top of each other with a slight musty scent to the room. There are what appear to be some sort of holster displayed on one wall, though they don’t seem to be particularly popular judging by their number.

Allen’s awareness prickles, and a few seconds later a small man appears. He has white wispy hair that almost seemed to float and eyes as clear as spun glass; his appearance could be called a ghost’s on a good day and a demon’s on the worst. But Allen’s appearance is much the same, and so he tries not to judge on appearance alone. 

“Ah, Harry Potter.” Allen suppresses a twitch at the name. “Looking for a new wand, are you?” The wizard asks with a curious smile.

Allen suppresses the urge to sigh.  _ Wand. _ Of course they were wands.

He liked the name stick better.

And when were people going to stop recognizing his host?

Sighing inwardly, a smile slides over Allen’s face as he says, “Yes, sir. I’d like a new one if that’s alright with you.”

The wizard–Ollivander?–chuckles. “Why, it’s your money Harry. And you can hardly go to Hogwarts without a wand, can you?”

Hog what? 

Allen smiles, as if sheepish. “I suppose not.”

Ollivander looks him over and then goes and gets a box off of the shelf. He hands a wand to Allen and says, “Here you go, Cherry wood and Unicorn hair, 10 inches, extra springy.” Allen’s hardly grasped it in his hand before Ollivander snatches it out of his hand, muttering, “no, no, that won’t do…”

He comes back with several more boxes, and hands another wand off to Allen. “Mahogany and Dragon heartstring, 11 inches, fairly bendy.” This one is quickly snatched from his hands as well, Ollivander muttering, “no, not right, not right at all…”

The next wand Allen gives a slight flick and is thoroughly surprised when the wall explodes with the force of something. Could that possibly have been him? Allen winces and looks at Ollivander. “Sorry, sir.”

Ollivander doesn’t seem to be listening, too caught up in his work. “A tricky customer!” He sounds rather delighted about this fact. “Why, I know just what you need…”

They try wand after wand after wand, Ollivander looking more and more like a kid on a sugar high the longer they go on without finding a wand for Allen. Destruction reigns all over the shop, but Ollivander doesn’t seem to mind, though Hedwig sure does once Allen accidentally singes her wing.

“Mister Ollivander, if I may ask, why does it even matter what wand I use?”

Ollivander turns to him with a wide smile on his face. “Why I thought you would remember from your last visit Mister Potter. The wand chooses the wizard, after all!” Ollivander’s eyes cast over him. “Hmm, maybe, maybe…”

He goes into the very back of the shop and comes out with a slim case covered in a thick layer of dust. Ollivander wipes it off with a cloth and then opens the box with some reverence. “Elder Bark and Thestral hair, 12 inches, a bit pliant.” When Allen’s fingers close around the wand an instant warmth suffuses his hand, the wand seeming to hum with power in his grip. When he flicks it a white light swirls from the wand’s tip, and a hauntingly familiar tune plays in the room for the span of a breath.

Allen grits his teeth.

Even now, he can’t escape that song.

“Marvelous! Simply marvelous!” Ollivander exclaims. He smiles at Allen, as if sharing a secret. “That wand has been in the back of my store since the late 1800s. I’ve despaired of ever finding an owner for it.” 

“Oh. I see.” Allen says, trying not to show how shaken he is.

“Would you care to buy a wand holster?” Ollivander asks.

Looking over at the holsters, Allen accepts, much to Ollivander’s delight.

Strapping his wand holster to his wrist and walking out of the store 14 galleons lighter, Allen makes his way to a bookstore nearby with Hedwig balanced on his shoulders. 

It was time to gather some information.

As it turned out, gathering any books that might tell him about the wizards was surprisingly easy. He grabbed a basket and just started shoving in books that might tell him things he needed to know.  _ Hogwarts: A History _ went in quickly with  _ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _ along with  _ 101 Hexes and Jinxes, _ the interesting text  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them  _ and  _ The Magical Talents of the Wizarding World. _ He got a few others that caught his eye, such as  _ Dueling: A Satirical Guide _ , but they most likely wouldn’t be as useful as the others.

The owner of the bookstore looked at the huge pile of Allen’s books with clear greed and didn’t even question what a fourteen-year-old was doing out shopping all alone.

But then, neither had Ollivander.

Jeez, these wizards must be completely barmy.

Shaking his head, Allen sets his trunk beside a newspaper stand and retires to his bedroom, sinking down into the soft mattress as he pulls the blankets over himself and slipping off to sleep with Hedwig on her perch above him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the chapter. I know I hate having to read through things that other fanfic authors have written so many times over, which is why I skipped most of the parts with the goblins and went to the part that everyone anticipates- the wand!
> 
> Now, in case you're wondering why Allen was able to get a new wand while Harry's wand was still in tact, let me emphasize. _Harry's_ wand was still intact, however _Harry's_ wand is not _Allen's_ wand. Because it was Harry's wand, it would not have worked for Allen. As for Hedwig, well... you'll see.
> 
> As for Allen's wand, at first all I'd had figured out was Thestral hair. Then When I was on Pottermore (or some website like that??) I learned that JKR had apparently made a calendar with each month coinciding with a type of wand wood that was supposed to match the character's birthdays. Since Elder Bark happened to be in December, that's ultimately what made my decision.
> 
> Also, Ollivander. I wonder what was on his mind throughout the whole transaction? I found him oddly fun to write.
> 
> Next chapter: A visitor, an owl café, and a letter from a dead boy's best friend.


	3. cafés, letters, and Noah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allen receives a letter that makes him unsure how to reply.
> 
> He and Hedwig go out to eat at a questionable restaurant, and Allen may or may not get kidnapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all!
> 
> So, I know I just posted yesterday and was flipping tables over how long this chap was going to be, but I ended up finding a happy medium between the two and found an ending to the chapter that suited me.
> 
> No trigger warnings that I can think of!
> 
> Enjoy! ^^

Allen is startled out of his reading by a repetitive sound echoing all around him. It sounds almost like a very large bird pecking at his window. Allen eyes Hedwig. A very large bird… 

Climbing up the steps that lead away from the lounge, Allen unsheathes a knife that the saleswoman had provided and cuts a small slice into his palm, just enough to draw blood. Pressing his bloodied hand against the wood in front of him, the wood absorbs his blood, sealing the wound in the process. The false back opens up and Allen leans halfway out of the trunk, giving the old owl outside an annoyed look. The owl looks at him long-sufferingly and holds out his leg. Allen blinks and looks at him. The owl hoots, pecking at his hand irritatedly and holding out his leg again. Then Allen looks down and sees the letter attached to the owl’s leg. 

A bit incredulously, Allen unties the letter from the owl’s foot and shoos the bird away, the owl looking gravely insulted. 

What had he been expecting? Treats?

Allen’s eyes widen, and with a wave of his hand the false back to the trunk closes, the trunk snapping shut. He rushes down the stairs and into the lounge where Hedwig is up above on one of her owl perches. She had seemed displeased with him all morning, and now Allen knew why. He looks up at her and meets her golden eyes. “I’m so sorry, Hedwig. I completely forgot about feeding you. About feeding, well… _ us _.” At the mention of food, Allen’s stomach roars like an affronted lynx that fell down a foxhole. 

Hedwig gives him a fond, if reproving look. _ Well of course you did, idiot. I was just about to remind you. _

Allen smiles wryly at her. He’s gotten a bit more used to the whole ‘talking owl’ thing, to the point where it doesn’t give him a heart attack every time she speaks to him. “Were you, now?” He teases.

Hedwig gives him a mischievous look that sends shivers down Allen’s spine.

“Anyway, how about a late brekkie, just the two of us?”

Hedwig cocks her head. _ All right_, she agrees, opening her great snowy wings and leaping off of her perch to glide through the air and land elegantly on Allen’s shoulder. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually decides to bring _ Healing Spells That’ll Knock Your Socks Off _ instead of _ Futhark Runes and Their Magical Properties _, because as much as the latter seems a lot like Sorcery on a quick skim through, healing Hedwig is a lot more important. Stuffing the letter into his robe pocket, Allen goes looking for a place to eat.

He ends up finding the perfect breakfast shop for both of them, called The Beak ‘n Feathers Café. The Beak ‘n Feathers Café catered to both wizards and owls, with warm colored walls and with cushy brown booths and tables with owl perches ready for their animal patrons. There’s chaos everywhere as owls fly throughout the restaurant with food in their beaks, wizards and witches talking and laughing while blatantly ignoring the bird poop being cleaned up by nearby workers.

Allen grins at Hedwig who perks up, looking around while also trying not to look _ too _ excited. She’d evidently never been here before. A severely plump woman with curly black hair that is mostly pulled back in a bun except for some stray strands escaping in the front bustles up to meet him, her brown eyes bright. “Hello, my name’s Kaaterina. What can I do for you today?” She asks brightly.

Allen pauses. For a moment the name sounds familiar, but he shakes it off, smiling at her. “I’d like a table for myself and Hedwig, please.”

She smiles. “Of course, right this way.” As she leads Allen to the booth, he has to dodge two consecutive owls as they dive for their perches, one half blind owl that misses her perch and needs to be helped up onto it, and two owls that appear to be fighting over the last bit of candied owl bits, which the workers eventually break up with some success. 

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Kaaterina says as she leads him to his booth.

Alle smiles wryly at her. “Did you think I didn’t see all of this before I came in? If I wasn’t prepared for it than it was my own fault.” He points out, plucking feathers from out of his hair. “I find it quite charming, actually.” 

Kaaterina looks at him in surprise. “Really? We get so many complaints about the mess, not to mention…” She gestures to the general chaos around her.

Allen laughs. “It reminds me of home.” He says truthfully.

Kaaternina grins. “You must have an interesting homelife, then.” Stopping at a booth that is surprisingly clean, she says, “aand here we are!” Setting down two separate and very different menus, Kaaterina turns, brushing Allen’s arm as she goes by. She pauses, and Allen sees that she looks oddly surprised, a look of realization flashing across her face.

Allen tilts his head. “Is something wrong?” He asks, concerned.

Kaaterina's face clears of all expression before she turns and smiles at him. “No. But I just remembered there’s a bit of candied owl treats left. Would you like some, Hedwig?”

The she-owl looks at her pointedly, which in Hedwig speak means, _ yes, of course I want them. _

Kaaterina looks to Allen, and for a second he’s puzzled before he abruptly realizes that the thing between him and Hedwig is _ just _ between him and Hedwig.

Allen laughs. “That’s a definite yes.”

Kaaterina laughs as well, writing the order down on a notepad. “I’ll bring that over then. Just tell me when you’re ready to order.”

Allen nods, and the nice woman leaves them in peace. Allen choose most of the dishes on the menu and then starts reading the book about healing. He doesn’t get far when Kaaterina comes back with Hedwig’s food. Hedwig digs in, and that’s when Kaaterina notices Hedwig’s feet. “Oh, she’s injured! Why haven’t you taken her to a Healer?”

Allen looks away slightly, scratching at his cheek. “To be honest I’m new to owls and I wasn’t sure if they would take her.”

“Ah, muggleborn are you?”

Allen nods, even though he has no idea what that means.

“Don’t worry, I’ll heal her up right quick.” Drawing her wand from the pocket of her robes, Kaaterina waves it in some sort of nonsensical pattern and Allen watches as Hedwig’s injured feathers fall out before regrowing, the wounds on her feet sealing up as if they never were. 

Allen looks at the woman in awe, carefully unwrapping the makeshift bandages from Hedwig’s feet as he asks, the words feeling odd on his tongue, “what… _ spell _ was that?”

It all feels a bit surreal. He’s been reading about magic and seen the magical world, and it’s not so much the fact that magic exists so much that there’s a whole _ magical world _ in and of itself.

“Episkey.” Kaaterina says, giving him an odd look. She seems to shake it off and smile then. “So, your order?” 

The rest of the meal is passed in peaceful silence as Allen and Hedwig enjoy their meals, Hedwig occasionally saying something that would make Allen laugh. 

They left The Beak ‘n Feathers Café much closer companions than they had been before, even if Allen was half sure that there had been owl pellets in his soup.

Oh, well. He’s eaten worse.

* * *

_ Dear Harry, _

_ What were you thinking, running off like that! And right in the middle of Muggle London, too! Wherever you are, you need to send your Patronus to Professor Dumbledore right away and tell him where you are. With the Death Eaters out there, there’s no way you can afford to be out alone. _

_ Please, Harry. I know you’re angry with us, but we’ve only been keeping secrets on Professor Dumbledore’s orders. You never know when an owl might be intercepted. _

_ Please send your Patronus as soon as possible. _

_ Love, _

_ Hermione _

Allen pushes the letter aside, shame and guilt all twisted up inside him. How is he supposed to respond? Should he respond?

To keep up the lie of Harry Potter’s life, so his friends, his loved ones don’t have to grieve?

After going through his host’s trunk for writing utensils, he sets quill and inkpot down and begins to write. His first attempts are so splotched by ink that he has to give up on them, and he’s almost run out of parchment by the time he gets a suitable letter written.

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I’m sorry to say that I cannot fulfill your request. I am quite happy where I am and have no wish to leave at the moment. I would, however, love to hear about how your school studies are going. Is everyone alright? I know I’ve probably already asked this question, but it’d be nice to know how everyone’s doing. _

_ Make sure to give Hedwig some owl treats, she’s the dog’s breakfast and deserves everything in the world. _

_ With love, _

_ Harry _

There. That should be appropriate, shouldn’t it? Fussing over the letter a bit more, Allen finally decides that it’s as good as it’s going to get. 

Now how to send it?

A set of talons clack against Allen’s desk, and he looks up to see Hedwig staring at him, her golden eyes eager. “You’ll take the letter to Hermoine for me, girl?” Allen asks, and Hedwig huffs, as if insulted at the very idea of her doing anything else. Giving her a few of the owl treats that he’d bought at the Café after allowing the ink to dry, Allen carefully folds up the letter and ties it to her leg with a piece of Hedwig’s left over bandages. Wishing her a safe flight, Allen opens the passage so that Hedwig can fly through.

Allen goes back to reading, pouring over the Ancient Runes book. The more he reads about Ancient Runes the more he’s sure that it’s actually Sorcery, or at least the remnants of it. Everything, from drawing power from the depths of your own soul to carving the very runes into your skin in order to draw the power up from your soul and direct it with the force of your mind alone, though like with Master, hand gestures helped with the intent of the spell.

It is all something Allen is intensely familiar with, being Master’s pupil and the holder of Neah’s Memory. He could probably be very good at this sort of magic if he wanted to. 

Life goes on without Hedwig.

Allen gets into a steady workout, working on this body’s strength and balance. He finds to his surprise that his host’s balance isn’t too bad, and that he has subtle, wiry muscles built into what little frame he has. Maybe from some sort of organized sport? He surely didn’t work out or take care of himself well in any way. He was still only able to make it to 200 on his left arm, and 134 on his right. As he cools off with a towel in his old oversized t-shirt, his binder folded over the couch, he resolves to do better tomorrow.

After puzzling over the controls of the washing station, Allen gets a nice warm spray of water coming from the nozzle overhead, and indulges himself in a long wash like he’s only ever been able to at the Order. And that was because they practically had built in hot springs. Allen reluctantly finds that he much prefers this odd spray of water, as it gets him much cleaner, soothing his aching muscles. 

He’s redressed in a second pair of new robes that he’d gotten earlier that day; several in fact as he did not know of any cleaning spells at the moment. The robe was black with a navy blue half vest suit and white sleeves with black pants and shoes. Allen put on black gloves and put both his knife and his wand in their sheathes, just in case.

He was halfway through reading about Metamorphmagi when the floor dipped sideways and he found himself sliding across the carpet until he hit the far wall.

Shit, rug burn. That’s going to sting later.

Then the floor tips the other way, and Allen abruptly realizes that his trunk is being stolen. The pure indignation Allen feels is enough to make him want to jump out of the trunk and make the person regret ever thinking about stealing something that’s his. But logic tells Allen that he should be smart about this, and that means waiting for the person to put him down before ambushing them. Plus there was that girl Hermione’s comment about “Death Eaters.”

He had to be careful.

The whole ride feels like a particularly violent trip on a boat, so Allen leans against a wall and bears it as much as he can. When the trunk is set down, Allen immediately activates his Innocence. His body is suffused in soft green light, the green light changing him, remaking him. His left arm becomes thin and contoured, colored black with golden accents with four foot long metallic claws. A white cloak wraps itself snugly around his form, the feathered hood connected to a black and gold half mask in the center of his chest.

He bursts out of the trunk with all the force of a hurricane, taking in the room with a glance. He appears to have ended up in a kitchen/dining room, the walls a grassy green color with black accents with dark stained wooden tables and countertops. He has no idea what the use is for half of the items inside of the area though, and catalogues them as possible weapons. Sitting at the dining table are two men. One man is loudly eating a porkchop off of a plate more expensive than anything Allen’s ever owned, his messy chocolate brown hair push back from his face and his cocoa colored eyes intent on his plate. He and his companion have deep brown skin, twin to Allen's own. The other man has long white hair drawn back into a ponytail with only his bangs escaping on either side of his face, his deep blue eyes focused on a book. 

He has three red eyes on his forehead.

Allen steps back, confused. The sensations of _ danger danger danger _ and _ home home home _ become a tangled mess inside his head, and he has to resist the urge to cover his ears to try to block out the noise. The man–Tyki?–steps forward and places his hands on his shoulders, saying something, but Allen can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears.

And then Wisely meets his eyes, and he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the author cackles evilly and turns into a dragon, rolling around in her hoard of comments and kudos and writing metaphors*
> 
> _now all i need is fanart and then i will RULE THE WORLD!_
> 
> Ahem. 
> 
> Anyway, see y'all next chap!
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment or kudos at the bottom! ^^


	4. the Noah welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allen wakes up somewhere new and decides that torching the whole place just wouldn't be worth the effort.
> 
> Allies are gained, haircare products are tried, and Allen misses Hedwig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> New chapter for you, the next one is, like, half finished, so expect that soon.
> 
> No warnings I can think of.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Allen wakes up.

He’s lying down on a sinfully soft bed, and at first he’s confused because these are neither of the two beds that he (used to) own. But then he remembers and leaps to his feet, off of the bed and onto the hardwood floors. The room around him is light and airy, with a dark stained table in the corner of the room and a balcony that’s had its doors sealed tightly shut. There’s a dark stained dresser and desk across from the table and chairs, with a bookshelf beside Allen’s bed and a doorway that Allen discovers leads to an en suite bathroom.

There’s nothing much suitable for a weapon in there though, so Allen checks himself over and finds that they have in fact left him with all of his personal items on his person, even his weapons. An oversight, perhaps? Searching around for his trunk, he’s frustrated to find that it’s not in the room.

“Looking for this?”

Allen spins around to see the chocolate brown haired man leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, Allen’s trunk dangling from his grip.

He looks so different, but that tone, that cadence… 

“Tyki?” Allen asks, incredulous.

Maybe-Tyki smiles, sly and teasing. “Why don’t you come down and find out?”

Allen crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. “And why would I want to do that?”

Tyki wiggles Allen’s trunk in his hand with a smug look on his face, then disappears out of the doorway. Allen curses and follows.

He pursues Tyki down an elegant winding staircase, his feet touching the bottom a horrifying twenty seconds after Tyki’s had, his lungs aching and his legs begging for rest. But he doesn’t give them that. He chases Tyki through a marble fronted entryway that opens up into a lounge, the lounge bearing moss green walls with sparkling silver side tables and black leather furniture all arrayed in a wide circle around a dark stained low table, laminate floors slightly slippery beneath his socked feet.

They stole his shoes so he couldn’t escape, didn’t they? It would be a good tactic if Allen thought for one second that a pair of missing shoes would stop him from escaping.

An indelicate snort catches Allen’s attention, and he meets Wisely’s blue eyes that are sparkling with amusement. “You were asleep, you know.” He says.

Allen lifts an eyebrow. “More like someone  _ put _ me to sleep.” He snarks.

Wisely grins just as Tyki maneuvers between an armchair with Allen’s trunk in hand, three mugs of something hot floating in front of him with steam wafting from the top, carrying the scent of something sweet and delicious to Allen’s nose. But Allen’s attention is centered on the wand in Tyki’s hand, and Tyki notices, sending him a sly look as he flicks the wand, the three mugs of tempting sweetness landing gently on the coffee table with two in front of and next to Wisely and one in front of an armchair nearby. Tyki raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the armchair.

Allen wants to start a fight. To yell storm right out of the room. But he has to admit that he’s sorely tempted by the knowledge that they’re blatantly offering. And they might be enemies, but it’s not like he hates Tyki or Wisely. He’s rather fond of Tyki outside of a battle, and so long as Wisely keeps his grubby mitts out of Allen’s mindspace he doesn’t have much of a problem with him either outside of what he did to Kanda. 

Slowly, Allen sits.

He does not drink.

“You probably want to know why you’re here,” Wisely says, quirking one white eyebrow.

“Well I assume it’s not to kill me, since I’m not dead yet.” Allen snarks.

Tyki blows on his hot mug of dubious liquid, taking a sip and then wincing slightly. “You’ve put us in a bit of a bind, boy.” He says, ignoring Allen’s snark. “The Noah Family are well known in the Wizarding World and it’s a known fact that the circumstances of gaining an Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Campbell is different than most.”

Allen lifts an eyebrow. “And this has to do with me because?”

“Because as the last remnant of the Earl, you’re the current Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Campbell.” 

Something uncomfortable and sick shifts in Allen’s stomach, and he swallows around the lump in his throat to say, “and if I say no?”

Tyki and Wisely look at each other, and Wisely shrugs at him and says, “then you say no.”

Allen narrows his eyes at them. He gets the distinct feeling that him “saying no,” doesn’t mean tacit agreement from all parties involved. Before he can open his mouth to argue the point, Tyki butts in, “It’s not as simple as that, boy. There are personal matters pertaining to your host as well.”

Allen raises an eyebrow, even as black tar churns in his gut. Tyki lifts a newspaper off the coffee table and hands it to him. Allen can only blink incredulously for a moment, because the pictures are  _ moving _ . But then he reads the headlines.

_ BOY-WHO-LIVED CRIES WOLF! _ _   
_ _   
_ __ ALBUS DUMBLEDORE AND HARRY POTTER STRIKE FEAR INTO THE MASSES!

by Rita Skeeter

The article goes on to say that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and who once defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in infancy is now tired of his one hit wonder and has now decided to incite fear into the masses by claiming that You-Know-Who is back, with the support of Albus Dumbledore himself.

There’s a rather unflattering picture of his host on the front page, with flashing green eyes and a scowl on his face. Looking over his features, Allen notices that his hair is the same curled nest that Allen’s currently is, except black instead of white, and that he has a lightning bolt shaped scar on his temple, wearing a pair of bottleneck glasses. Allen puts a hand to his face, realizing he’s not wearing them. He suddenly remembers a pair just like it back in the garden shed, one of the lenses cracked and one of the legs bent completely to the side. Those legs were Allen’s best set of lock picks at the moment.

Allen glances at the date and his heart stops in his chest. 

_ June 18th, 1995 _

So that was it, then.

They were gone, all of them.

He lost Mana, he lost his friends… 

What is he supposed to live for, without them?

“You could live for yourself for once, you know.”

Wisely’s words snap him out of his self-pity, and he blinks at him. “What?”

Wisely meets his gaze, his blue eyes intense. “Live for yourself. Isn’t that what they would have wanted?” Tyki puts a warm hand on his shoulder, his cocoa brown eyes oddly soft and understanding. It makes Allen remember that Tyki lost friends too, when he reincarnated. 

Allen closes his eyes and makes his decision. It hurts, the separation of who he was and who he is from each of his loved ones, like slicing himself free only to cauterize each wound. Allen takes a deep breath. “Alright.” He rubs at his forehead, rucking up his drying bangs. “Alright,” he repeats, quieter.

Tyki and Wisely must have had some sort of simultaneous mind meld, because Tyki lifts Allen up by his armpits off of the chair and spins him around to face him, a mischievous grin on his face. “I know just the thing for you, boy!”

Allen blinks, and then recovers enough of his aplomb to lift an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

Tyki shakes his head in a woebegone way, as if he were truly hopeless. “I’m sorry, boy, but your hair is a  _ travesty _ . And while we both know that’s not your fault,” at this Wisely nods in a sort of commiserating way, “you’re going to need all the help you can get to have it in any decent shape.”

Allen scowls. “It’s not even my hair!” 

“It is now,” Wisely points out, making Allen swallow down the bile in the back of his throat.

With that the two men bustled Allen into a large bathroom and told him to not come out until he’d tried all the detangling shampoos, conditioners, hairbrushes, and other things they’d left out for him to try. He was encouraged by the way the door locked from the outside, most probably by magic.

Gits.

There are only six bottles with an ‘A’ written on the surface, along with a hairbrush with one on the back. Allen really wants to try that huge tub that’s sitting in the corner, but it has these weird nozzles coming out of their sides, so Allen decides to stick with what he already knows. The three bottles have weird labels like “Kneazle Spit! Sure to detangle any stubborn hair in seconds!” or “Unicorn Spit! The purest of hair conditioners!” Each bottle is a shampoo or conditioner of the same kind, so Allen decides to just try to conditioner and if that doesn’t work then be done with it.

Since he knows what a Unicorn is, he takes the Unicorn Spit conditioner, (genuinely hoping that it’s not as advertised on the label), along with all the other conditioners and starts up the spray from the water nozzle.

Using the Unicorn spit turns out to be a mistake. Not only does it make his hair even more tangled, it burns his skin nearly everywhere except for his left arm. He washes it out quickly, giving his sore scalp some blessed relief. He tries the Kneazle hair next, but that just makes his hair frizz out in all directions, so with a sigh he washes that out too. He’s feeling pretty hopeless at this point and just ready to give up, but he eyes the last bottle of conditioner. Thestral blood. Looking over at his wand holster from where he’d placed it carefully on the sink, he sighs and opens the bottle, pouring the liquid into his palm. It's an inky black, and smells oddly of citrus. 

With a shrug he puts it in his hair, combing through the strands, and immediately notices a difference. His hair smoothes out, becoming silky and soft beneath his fingertips, parting easily as if it would never do anything else. Allen looks at the bottle and shakes his head. 

Magic. 

Rinsing out his hair, he dries himself and partially redresses before finding something that is also labelled ‘A’. An odd oval cylinder that is written in what is obviously Wisely’s handwriting. 

_ for you! it turns out the 18th century was seriously lacking in hygiene. please, just put this on your armpits. _

Examining the strange cylinder yields it to be something called “deodorant”. Allen assumes it would have been one of the things eventually invented by the Order before its time, just like shampoo and conditioner was. Hesitantly taking off the cap reveals a nice, floral scent, so Allen reluctantly does as he’s told and finds he smells much better afterwards, even after the shower. Looking at the cylinder with new respect, Allen grabs the hairbrush and runs it gently through his hair. 

This is the first time he’s ever looked at himself in the mirror, and he has to say it’s not a welcome experience. His white hair is a lot more curly than it used to be, and goes down to his neck now that he’s untangled it. Piercing emerald eyes look back at him in the mirror, and his scar has morphed, the star that is normally on his forehead replaced with that lightning bolt scar, the end of the lightning bolt straightened to connect to the rest of his curse mark. 

Allen finally has to tear his gaze away from the mirror, sickness and shame scalding him from the inside. Taking a deep breath, Allen steels himself. There was no use lingering on something he couldn’t change. Firming his determination, he gets completely dressed, making sure his binder is straight and his holsters are strapped on properly before making his way out of the bathroom.

He finds Tyki and Wisely in the kitchen, with Lulubell there as well. Tyki is leaning against the dining table with Lulubell sprawled out as a black house cat in front of him, both of them watching Wisely cook with some interest. At the smell of a full English Breakfast being cooked on the stove, Allen’s stomach makes the sound of a hundred seagulls fighting over a single french fry.

And then Allen frowns, because he certainly doesn’t remember frying any frenchmen.

“Hungry, are we?” Tyki asks, but Allen can tell he’s more interested in Allen’s hair. Lulubell gives them both an amused look. 

“Did it work?” Wisely asks, still focused on the food.

Tyki grins and reaches over and ruffles Allen’s hair, making Allen tense up slightly. Tyki’s smile drops, and he retracts his arm awkwardly, making Allen feel oddly guilty. “It looks like it,” Tyki says without pause, “Smells like… the Thestral blood?”

Allen goes over and leans on the table next to Tyki, despite the fear coiling in his belly. Lulubell looks at him through slitted yellow eyes and then rubs her cheek up against his arm, pressing her small body against his forearms. It’s an odd kindness, sensing his fear and offering comfort, but Allen decides not to question it as he buries his fingers into her fur.

“It was the only thing that worked,” Allen admits.

Lulubell gives him another cat-eyed smirk.

“Food’s on!” Wisely says, and there’s a sudden scramble for plates, cups and silverware, Lulubell shapeshifting into human form somewhere in between getting the plates and shovelling the food and pouring the orange juice in a mad rush to get to it before someone else does. They needn’t have bothered; Wisely had made plenty, probably to account for Allen’s blackhole of a stomach.

Allen sits down at a solitary seat, only for Tyki and Wisely to each take a seat next to him. With Lulubell directly across from him he can’t help but feel a little penned in. After a few minutes of eating with Lulubell reading the newspaper, Wisely puts down his fork. “So.”

Allen, who is already on his second helping, nearly chokes on his eggs before replying, “yes?”

“You’re the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Allen raises an eyebrow. “Everyone lives at some time or another. I don’t see what makes me any different.”

Tyki sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Your host is currently famous all throughout magical Europe for slaying the Dark Lord Lord Voldemort when he was an infant.” 

Allen sits in stunned silence for a moment before exclaiming, “he’s famous for  _ that _ ?” Allen knew fame. But fame was usually saved for legendary scholars or book writers, not… this.

“Wrong.  _ You’re _ currently famous for that now. Try to keep up, boy.” Tyki teases, making Allen’s stomach turn uncomfortably. “Your fame… complicates things. There are influential people in your life that expect you to know things about the Wizarding World that you don’t know.”

Allen throws up his hands in frustration. “Why not just announce I’m a Noah and be done with it?”

Tyki grimaces, and Lulubell answers for him, “the general populace of the Wizarding World are not aware of our family’s status as human body snatchers.”

Allen finds he has to hide a bout of hysterical laughter behind a cough, and Lulubell looks at him, amused. Allen wonders if he can ever make her laugh like that. Purely for revenge purposes, of course.

Allen lifts an eyebrow. “Then what are they aware of?”

“They know that each Campbell is adopted into the family after gaining their abilities, and that these abilities might come with a bit of a personality change, though obviously not at the extent that really happens.” Wisely explains.

“If they know about the personality change, why wouldn’t they become suspicious?” Allen asks. “Of the personality having changed fully, I mean.”

“Well usually we reincarnate into people with personalities similar to ourselves in some way. It helps to avoid suspicion.” Lulubell puts in, her eyes looking at the newspaper but not really reading it, it was clear she was more interested in the conversation than whatever she was attempting to read.

“So here’s what you need to know…”

There started what was possibly one of the longest explanations in Allen’s life. They started out with blood purity and the difference between a Pureblood, a Half-Blood, and a Muggleborn, and how this was what started Voldemort’s rise to power among the Purebloods which quickly lead to war that ended years later at the end of Voldemort’s own wand.

Not that he was dead.

Because apparently, he wasn’t.

He had risen in Harry Potter’s fourth year at Hogwarts (a  _ magic school _ ?!), and was now busy consolidating power while The Order of the Phoenix, Albus Dumbledore’s forces that were rallied to fight against him, did who knew what. Allen had felt a moment of vindication at the name of that particular faction, as he’d had no idea what it was about or if the woman had just been some crazy cat lady hellbent on feeding him to her minions.

Allen, or rather, Harry, was enemy number one when it came to Death Eaters, as Voldemort himself was targeting a  _ child _ for something he did as a baby.

Jesus. Or, Merlin he supposed. 

Merlin, that was going to take some getting used to.

* * *

They talk for hours, but even when day turns to night Allen can tell there’s still a lot he doesn’t know. So, after giving Tyki and his hostage trunk a baleful glare, he climbs back up the winding staircase to the room he had been in before, assuming that they had meant for it to be his. 

Tossing off his robes and unbuttoning his navy blue half vest suit, he shucks it off and folds them both over a chair, leaving only a white dress shirt beneath. Reaching up the back of his shirt, he releases the velcro strap on his binder with a sigh of relief, the cloth that had bound his chest all day loosening, releasing the strain on his back and chest. This evidently wasn’t a Johnny-made binder.

Slipping into the bed, he finds himself sorely missing Hedwig. There’s an owl perch right there, a few feet off to the side of Allen’s bed, and Allen can almost imagine Hedwig there, looking at him with a harsh fondness that only she can manage.

As Allen drifts off to sleep, his thoughts are of Hedwig, and home.


	5. dreams and pranks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allen has a dream that is more real than he'd like, has a run-in with a of couple certain Noah twins and ends up wishing he'd stayed in bed.

Allen found himself getting out of the car to go to the zoo for his cousin Dudley’s birthday. He knew what a birthday was, of course, but he found concepts like cars or zoos to be slipping from his grasp. Who even was Dudley?

_ Dudley Dursley. Cousin. Stupid git. Gets me in trouble with the Dursley’s on purpose. _

This information was new to Allen, and he watched as if in a dream as he-as-Harry hunched in on himself as they made their way into the zoo, Aunt Petunia lecturing him one more time about not showing his “freakishness” in public. Time seemed to speed up, and suddenly Allen and Harry were in front of a snake exhibit, where Dudley had just dismissed the snake as boring and wandered off.

Allen felt he had his own agency in his body for the first time, and so he remarks to the snake, “a bit rude, isn’t he?”

The snake’s eye’s glitter with amusement, and they remind him oddly of Hedwig. _ “Oh, yes. Quite.” _ The snake says, except the way it’s talking is somehow different than how Hedwig speaks, and Allen hadn’t realized until now that Hedwig didn’t speak in actual words until something else  _ did _ .

And then something about the snake changed. His senses prickling, Allen rolled to the side as the snake reared and struck, the stone floor giving way beneath the force of its impact with the ground. The snake reared up and looked at Allen with blinded reptilian eyes. It was as tall as a building, as large and incomprehensible as the sky. It had a certain beauty to it, but Allen’s jaw firmed as he saw the deathly pale red headed girl lying motionless on the stone floor with a wraith of a boy that was about his age standing over her. 

_ “Kill him,” _ the boy hissed in that same language, and Allen didn’t hesitate and jumped up right on top of the Basilisk’s snout, driving his sword deep into its eye. The Basilisk screeched and threw its head about in its death throes, shaking Allen loose and forcing him to let go of Godric Gryffindor’s Sword. He fell painfully to the ground, and as he looked up at the Basilisk, something splattered across his face, scorching his eyes like a thousand suns. 

And he screamed. 

Suddenly he finds that there is no Basilisk, no deadly stone chamber. There’s a pleasant summer breeze in the air, combing tender fingers through his hair and chasing away the chill of that stone chamber. But he finds that he still can’t see, so he stays as still as possible so as to not give away his weakness to any possible enemies, trying to let his senses tell him where he is. He’s sitting, and there’s soft grass under his hands with the sound of trickling water nearby that could suggest either a valley or a meadow. He can feel the warmth of the sun on his face, and hear the breathing of another person beside him.

“Hello,” he says, attempting a friendly manner.

“Hello!” The person–a girl–says cheerily. “Just give me a little longer and I’ll have that remedy ready for you.” 

Allen tilts his head, puzzled. “I don’t remember asking for a remedy.”

“Asking isn’t the same as needing.” The girl points out. “You really should be more careful.”

“It was only a dream.” Allen says, squinting as he tries to look at her. She’s nothing but a purple and white blob, and he swipes at his eyes only to hiss as the liquid gets pushed deeper into his eyes.

She says something, but Allen is too distracted by the burning pain in his eyes, and then a cool wet cloth is suddenly over his face, the pain instantly soothed. It feels as if the cloth is taking all the pain away, and then it is replaced with another. Allen’s eyes begin to pulse with pain, and he starts to cry, or rather his eyes start to bleed. He feels like this should alarm him more than it is, but he finds that bleeding eyes are rather common place for him, even if it is usually only his left one. Once the bleeding stops Allen’s vision abruptly clears, and the cool cloth is put over his eyes again, making Allen sigh in relief.

When the cool cloth is removed, Allen blinks and looks around himself. He finds himself in a wooded meadow sheltered by a grove of trees, everything lit with a golden light as if the very air was kissed by the sun’s gilded rays. Bluebells and poppyheads wave in the summer wind, seedheads dancing mischievously in the breeze as the sun’s touch upon the leaves alight them in reds and golds. Everything seems crisper and brighter around him, the colors on a bluejay’s wings more vibrant, the twisting knolls on a tree deeper and more pronounced, the petals of a nearby flower delicate and smooth and infinitely more beautiful.

“Yes, it is quite beautiful, isn't it?”

Allen turns to look at a girl that is about his age, with white blonde hair and pale blue eyes wearing a purple and silver nightgown. 

“Yes, I suppose so.” Allen replies.

The girl smiles at him. “Here, take this.” She shoves a necklace made out of bottle caps into Allen’s hands, and Allen, bemused, puts it around his neck. “It’ll help chase away the Blibbering Humdingers. You have quite a lot of them.” She explains.

Allen isn’t sure what a Blibbering Humdinger is but he nods anyway. “Thank you, Miss…?”

“Luna Lovegood.” Luna laughs sadly. “But Harry always knew my name.”

Allen is silent. There is a crushing weight, a damning truth to her words.

“You’re not Harry, are you?”

Allen swallows. For every lie, for every half-truth he could say, all he can think of is, “I’m sorry.”

Luna looks into his eyes, and for a moment it’s as if she’s seeing through him. She nods, her voice sad as she huddles in on herself. “I know.”

The rest of the dream is spent in silence, the clear sky slowly turning dark and overcast, thunder rumbling overhead until rain begins to patter down around them.

Allen wakes up with his hair drenched with rainwater, the bottle cap necklace still hanging around his neck. He lifts it up in his hands with faint incredulity, shivering from the cold. He abruptly realizes that his clothes are soaked as well, and he quickly throws off the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed, standing in wet stocking feet as he begins to make his way towards the bathroom. However he soon discovers a problem in that he has no spare clothes and no known magical way to dry them (if there even is such a thing). 

Looking through the drawers of the dresser however reveal a spare pair of black and olive green robes, and Allen gives a sigh of relief as he pushes the dresser drawer shut, plunder in hand. Leaving the new clothes on the rack above the toilet, Allen disrobes, his clothes making wet slaps against the tiles as they fall to the floor. He takes off the bottle cap necklace last, looking at it with something close to wonder and something close to shame. 

The necklace is oddly stylized, the bottle caps smooth and white as a seashell, with only subtle grooves on the sides to make the suggestion of a bottle cap. It’s all tied together by a thick black string, and with a sad smile Allen puts it on the rack and steps into what Tyki had explained to be a ‘shower’.

Allen is feeling a bit ambivalent towards this description, but seeing as he has nothing else to measure it against, he decides to accept it for now.

Allen decides that a good wash will wake him up, so after washing up he gets out of the shower only to find that most of his wet clothes have disappeared, except for his binder, which has been dried and set atop the rest of his clothing. Feeling uneasy at the thought of someone having been here without him knowing, Allen dresses quickly, giving his hair a cursory brush that nonetheless makes it look much better than it had before. 

Exiting the bathroom, Allen walks silently down the spiral staircase, as it is still rather early in the morning and it would be rude to wake everyone up, only to come across an odd sight in the lounge area.

There are two platinum blonde teens with silver eyes each about Allen’s age, one a girl with long hair and one a boy with a shaved head pixie cut. The girl is holding an inflated blue balloon over the couch with a pin in her other hand, both of them grinning wildly. Allen looks down and sees Lulubell curled up on the couch, her whiskers twitching in her sleep. Allen’s finally starting to get the picture of who these two are, and so he asks, “Jasdevi?”

Jasdero’s eyes widen from what must be pure surprise, because she pops the balloon completely by accident. Lulubell wakes up hissing and spitting with her fur raised on end, making the twins cackle. She gives them all a cat-eyed glare that promised revenge before stalking away, tail bristling.

Devito turns to him and grins, eyes still dancing with glee. “Hey. Allen, right?”

“He’s Cross’s Apprentice,” Jasdero says pointedly, and Devito nods in agreement, his smile as sharp as a knife.

Allen smiles, trying not to show his awkward wariness. “Right.” He tilts his head. “So what are you and your sister doing out here so late at night?”

“I think you meant morning,” Devito says snarkily, but something about him has softened, and he takes his twin’s hand as she smiles at him.

Allen’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Morning, then.”

Jasdero huffs. “Whatever time of day it is, can we please go back to what we were doing before?”

Allen lifts an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Jasdero grins. “Pranking the entire household.”

“You could join in if you wanted to,” Devito offers.

Allen crosses his arms and raises his eyebrow further skyward. “And I suppose if I don’t then I myself will be pranked instead?”

The twins just grin at him.

The pranks that Allen and the twins get up to resolve in Tyki’s whole body being irrevocably covered in purple glitter, a pair of antlers ‘transfigured’ onto Wisely’s head, Toraido’s head Transfigured into a giant gavel that stirred slightly with every breath he took (he could breathe, couldn’t he?) and Lulubell unable to change into a different form because she’s so high on catnip. What Allen hadn’t anticipated was that there would be friendly fire among the fellow pranksters. As it was Allen was at a clear disadvantage with no known spells to hand, and so he had just ended up dumping the barrel of purple glitter over both of them while they hexed his sleeves to spew out every debt he’s ever owed to master, ever. But he at least gets the consolation prize that the two also hexed  _ each other _ . 

When the other Noah’s come down the stairs in the early hours of the morning it’s to find Allen, Jasdero, and Devito pouring over the twin’s collection of Marvel comics. A conversation about what they each liked to do for fun had lead to the topic of Marvel comics, which had lead to, “Fuck you, Black Widow could totally kick the Earl’s ass in a fight!” which lead to this.

Allen looks up as Tyki stumbles into the kitchen covered head to toe in sparkling purple glitter, grabbing blindly for the teakettle and pouring himself a cup. After a cream and two sugars he sips some, and then looks down into the mug with surprise and something akin to nostalgia. He downs the whole thing in one gulp, then goes and pours another, looking much more awake than he had been before. Tyki sits down at the table across from Allen and the twins, taking in their appearances with surprise. Allen smiles. “Hello, Tyki. You’re looking much more awake this morning.”

Devito grins with sharp shark-like teeth, the whiskers on his face twitching. “Maybe it’s his sparkling personality.”

Jasdero hums. “It does seem as if he has a fine afterglow.” She agrees, taking off her monocle to peer through it quite seriously while they all try not to laugh. 

It’s then that Wisely walks in, the end of his antlers scraping against the wall. He throws up his hands and yells, “why the hell do I have antlers on my head?!”

That’s the point where all three of them break down into laughter. Tyki sighs long-sufferingly, not even bothering to move as Wisely demands they remove his antlers as he sips his tea. Toraido walks in at some point with his shoulders slumped, his gavel head drooping pitifully. Not three hours later they find Lulubell fast asleep inside of a fishbowl, her furry body all pressed together inside the bowl leaving only her head emerging from the top, chin perched cutely on the rim. After seeing this Tyki and Wisely immediately go elsewhere, something about being pensive and blackmail material. 

After most of the hexes had been reversed – except for Allen’s, because apparently everyone was very, very curious about how much he owed the man – breakfast was cooked by a very peeved off Wisely, Lulubell shows up transformed back into human form looking very, very irritated, and the general chaos that the twins exude just by existing makes the kitchen nearly catch on fire at least twice. Through it all, Allen and Tyki share commiserating looks.

Allen’s decided.

The Noahs may not be consciously trying to murder him, but they may still be some of the most dangerous people out there, at least with as much chaos they leave in their wake.

Merlin help him.

**Author's Note:**

> So that happened.
> 
> And Hedwig is best friend, and I love her dearly. ^^
> 
> I have a lot planned for this, so don't worry about me running out of content any time soon. This will be majorly AU, as is most of the things I write, so grab some popcorn and get ready for a bumpy ride! ^^
> 
> As for the Order of the Phoenix, well, Allen is hardly going to trust some lady he's never met before talking about taking him off to some secret society of dubious morals, especially since she seems completely unbothered by the existence of whatever had attacked him.
> 
> So, yeah.
> 
> Anyway, see y'all next chap! ^^


End file.
